Hanson Has a Bad Bad Day
by Thaddeus MacChuzzlewit
Summary: "What's this, a diaper bag?" If you borrow Detective Martinez's Medical Examiner, be aware that he comes with accessories. A duffel bag, a stern lecture, and a letter. The confidentiality agreement is implied.


_I'm not sure how I think Hanson actually finds out Henry's secret, but this isn't how. This is something I wrote in one sitting, just as writing practice._

* * *

 **Hanson Has a Bad Bad Day**

 **8 8 8**

Jo looked up at him with as intense a stare as she could muster when her eyes were red rimmed and her nose dripping. She pressed him with a small duffle bag. "If you're going out with Henry you have to take this with you. Anywhere you go, this goes."

She said 'going out with Henry', but Hanson knew she meant 'taking care of Henry'. They all took care of him. Jo, Lucas, himself, even the Chief sometimes. Hanson wasn't entirely sure why – Henry Morgan was a grown man; sometimes it felt like he was the oldest one in the room. – But he was different somehow. Sometimes as naïve as a child, sometimes as cynically world-weary as a domestic abuse victim. He needed watching

"If something goes horribly, terribly wrong, you open this bag before you do anything else, okay?"

Hanson wanted to make a joke about helicopter parents, but the look she was giving him was dead serious. "Okay. I've got it."

Later, Hanson peeked in the bag as he was stuffing it in the trunk of his car. It had a towel, one change of clothes, and a short note.

'Don't panic. Don't call an ambulance. Don't call the police. Drive to the nearest large body of water and the call Abe.'

It made about as much sense as anything else in Henry's odd bubble of influence did.

 **8 8 8**

Hanson went down hard, and as he hit the ground he saw Henry on the other side of the clearing, staring at them with wide eyes. He yelled with as much breath as he could muster, willing the doctor for once in his life to please listen and obey.

"Run Henry! Get out of here!"

And he did. Henry scrambled to his feet and ran, _towards_ them.

"Doc, no…"

Three days he'd had the medical examiner on loan, and they were already in trouble.

And that was how Detective Hanson ended up stuck in a cabin, handcuffed (with his own handcuffs) to Doctor Morgan, who was handcuffed to the radiator, questioning his life choices while he listened to their suspect soak the whole building with gasoline.

"I hate burning to death."

"What?" Hanson glanced over at the Medical Examiner, who had that horrible concerned look pressing his brow into a mess of harsh lines. It _did not_ ever tempt Hanson to either slap the man around the face, or hug him. If there were children starving in Africa, Henry could probably still find a way to blame himself.

"We passed a lake about a mile back, didn't we?"

Huh?

"Uh. Yeah. I think we did. What does that have to do with anything?"

Henry shook his head. "Never mind. This is a very old cabin, and the wood is likely to be quite porous. Once he sets it on fire, we aren't going to have a lot of time."

Speaking of which. There was already smoke starting to seep under the door. "He took my keys. Do you think we can get the radiator loose?"

"No. It's quite sturdy."

Awesome. They were going to die. Then Jo was going to dig up his charred remains and kill him again, just for failing to keep her ME alive. Then Karen was going to resurrect him and give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime for leaving her alone with their beautiful, terrifying, amazing kids.

The room was getting hot.

Hanson pulled himself out of his spinning thoughts to find Henry staring at him.

"Got any superpowers I don't know about, doc? Lock picking skills, laser eyes, super strength?" he joked, rather weakly.

Henry's eyes jumped from his wrist, to the window, to Hanson, and back to his wrist. The detective could almost see the gears spinning in his mind. He braced himself to hear what would either save his life, or make it ten times worse. There was no middle ground with Henry Morgan.

"Detective, do you think you can kick out that window to draw the smoke from the room?"

Hanson nodded. He turned to better face the glass, wondering what the rest of Henry's plan entailed. Rearing back, he gave it a powerful kick. The glass shuddered, but didn't break.

"If I get the handcuffs loose, can you get out the window and back to the car before the petrol lights up?"

Hanson gave the window pane a second kick and it exploded in a shower of splintered glass. He used his elbow to start knocking the remaining pieces from the bottom of the frame. "Yeah. We're on the first floor. You think you can get the cuffs undone?" Suddenly he was yanked downwards by his right wrist. "Whoah, doc. What are you doing?"

Henry was sliding one of the longer shards of glass towards himself with his shoe, and had just ducked down to pick it up. As soon as he had it, he transferred the glass to the hand cuffed to the radiator, and backed away from Hanson, seeming to forget the detective was forced to follow.

"You need to run. Don't panic, just run. And it would be lovely if you didn't tell anyone I'd been here," Henry told him earnestly. The doctor's brown eyes were blown wide, and he was shaking a little.

"Henry, what are you doing?" Alarmed, Hanson took a step forward, but stopped abruptly when Henry tightened his grip on the glass and blood began to drip from his fist.

"You're a good man, detective. Jo trusts you."

It didn't sound like a compliment. Instead it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

"Henry…"

This was why they protected him. Hanson never wanted to see that degree of terror and desperation in the other mans eyes, ever again.

Terror, desperation, and… resolve.

# *%, Hanson thought. The crazy bastard is going to cut off his own hand!

Hanson jumped forward at the same time that the doctor curled in on himself, blocking Hanson while he got his wrists close enough together to use the glass.

"No! Henry, stop!" He scrabbled to grip the doctor's closest hand while wrapping his arm around his waist and bringing them both crashing to the ground. "Don't do this. Let go of the glass!"

With a jolt, the handcuff pulled taut, and Hanson heard the glass hit the floor. He still had his arm around Henry's waist where the other man had fallen on top of him, and if the cuff was still tying them to the radiator, he must have stopped Henry in time.

The doctor gave a full body shudder, and let out a cross between a whine and a gurgle.

Something warm began to soak into Hanson's shirt.

He pushed the doctor up, scooting forward till they were both seated. Henry was disturbingly pliant under his hands.

"Doc?"

The other man brought his hand up – both their hands up – to claw at his throat.

"Oh no."

Blood. Everywhere. All down his front, on the floor, on Hanson's shirt, their hands, pooling in the doctor's lap. He hadn't cut off his hand. He'd slit his own throat. Severed both arteries with the devastating precision of a surgeon. Already his face was sheet white, and his eyes losing focus. Henry's head tipped back, and he slumped to the side, slipping down to settle against Hanson's chest.

"W-why? What did you do that for?"

Hanson slapped his hand over the wound, but knew it was about as effective as trying sandbag Niagara Falls.

It was useless, but he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to accept this was happening.

Why was it happening?

Why?

Henry stopped blinking and his chest ceased to rise.

Hanson leaned back, feeling moisture flood his eyes.

Thud.

For a split second Hanson was struck by the sensation that his ears had just popped. That the air pressure had changed for just a moment.

And then the hand that had been supporting Henry's head was weight free, and the dampness under his knees was gone, and the other end of the cuff around his wrist dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

The doctor was gone.

Not there.

Not in front of him, or beside him, or anywhere nearby… There was no blood, his shirt was dry, his hands clean, there weren't even any traces under his nails. No faint scent of copper left on the air.

Hanson scrambled to his feet.

This was crazy.

He was crazy.

He was hallucinating.

His brain was short circuiting.

Hanson took a couple steps back and his foot knocked against something on the floor.

It was Henry's pocket watch. It had been in the doctor's vest pocket, and now it was on the floor, pretty much exactly where it would be if it had fallen through the doctor's chest, as he… vaporized?

So he _had_ been here and now he wasn't.

It was crazy, except not _as_ crazy as a hallucination. Except, no. It was totally, completely, impossibly insane.

Finally, the urgency of the situation kicked in.

'You've got a family, Mike. Pull yourself together.'

He snatched up the pocket watch and climbed out the window, running from the house until it was out of sight. It wasn't till he burst out of the trees and spotted his car that he remembered the bag and the note in the trunk.

'If something goes terribly, horribly wrong...'

This probably counted.

But head for the nearest body of water? Why? How would that help anything? How could Jo really have anything useful to say in this insane situation?

' _We passed a lake about a mile back, didn't we?'_

Suddenly Henry's apparent non-sequitur sprung to mind. Both of them thinking of water at a time like this? Maybe it wasn't a coincidence.

Do you have any better suggestions? he asked himself.

 **8 8 8**

Hanson pulled his car up to the edge of the grass. There was a small picnic area, currently deserted, leading down to the water.

Now what?

He got out of the car, turned in a circle a couple of times, and then slammed the palms of his hands down on the roof of the car.

"Detective?"

His head snapped up. "Henry?"

And there he was, their Medical Examiner, standing, not far away, dripping from head to toe, no blood, no sign of injury, and wearing nothing but a plastic garbage bag wrapped around his waist.

"You are… not dead."

"No." He edged a couple steps closer, like Hanson was the scary thing here, not the un-dead ME. "I'm not."

Hanson pushed away from the car and Henry flinched. "How did you- where did you come from?"

Henry pointed over his shoulder. "The lake."

"The lake?"

"Well, we're not close enough to the East River."

Hanson just stared, so Henry continued.

"That's where I usually end up after I die."

"After you die… Because you've died before…"

"Yes."

"But you're not dead now."

"No." He curled his bare toes into the grass, looking uncomfortable. "It just never sticks. I die and then wake up in the closest body of water."

"You're sure you're not dead."

"Yes.

Hanson ran his hands through his hair. "I think I'm going crazy."

Henry adjusted his hold on the edge of his garbage bag.

"I'm definitely going crazy."

"I realize this is very hard to take in," Henry offered. "But you are quite sane. Nobody ever takes this news very easily."

"I know you were at the house with me." Hanson jerked his hand in the air, showing off the handcuff still dangling from one wrist. He decided to ignore that the doctor still recoiled every time he moved too quickly. "So unless I'm dead, or hallucinating, you escaped the fire… and now you're here, not attached to the handcuffs, with your throat intact, without your clothes, so, so… I can't come up with any better explanations than yours."

They stood in silence for a while. Henry staring at the grass, and Hanson staring at Henry.

There wasn't even a scar across his throat.

"What-" Hanson stopped and reconsidered his next question. "What are you?"

Henry looked up at him, his brown eyes wide, and a little bit hurt. "I'm a human. Just like you."

"Just like me."

"Yes. For some reason I come back to life every time I die. But, I assure you, I'm otherwise completely ordinary. I have no idea why I can't stay dead. I was born, grew up, lived an ordinary life, got shot, and then came to life again."

Hanson refrained from pointing out that nothing about Henry was ordinary. He acted like a nineteenth century Sherlockian doctor, let loose in modern New York with all the technological and social skills of a toddler.

Suddenly, a snatch of conversation came back to him and Hanson pointed at the doctor fiercely.

"Wait a minute! _We're not close enough to the East River._ The East River! Where you go skinny dipping!"

Henry had the nerve to actually roll his eyes. "I don't skinny dip in the East River. Do you know what kind of currents run through that body of water? Only an idiot would swim there intentionally."

"But you-"

"End up there when I die."

Hanson blinked and took a very deep breath. "Doc, we saw your rap sheet. You've been picked up for indecent exposure almost a dozen times over the last three years."

This caused Henry to perk up a little. He looked quite pleased with himself. "Yes. I know. I've gotten quite good at making my way home without getting caught. Unless it's broad daylight, of course. But one tends to die after dark with much more frequency."

"What?"

"Well, accidents are more likely to occur in the obscurity of low lighting. But murders too."

"What?"

The doctor's brow pressed together, and he peered at Hanson. "You're a detective. This can't be new information to you."

"No. But." Hanson lost his cool and began gesturing violently. "Are you trying to tell me you've died over a dozen times in the last three years? All those times you were picked up! You'd just died? Been murdered? Killed?"

"You're angry," Henry surmised, taking a cautious step backwards.

"Yes, I'm angry!"

"At me?"

"What? No, doc. It's just. It's not good, okay?" How could the guy be such an idiot and genius at the same time?

"Detective Martinez had much the same reaction," Henry said, frowning.

"Jo knows? Of course she knows." He let out a huff of air. There was no point in yelling at Henry. He could be dense as a Christmas fruitcake when he wanted to be. Suddenly remembering the bag, Hanson rounded the car and popped the trunk. "She sent a change of clothes for you." He tossed the duffel bag to the doctor. "And a towel."

"How very considerate of her," Henry said brightly.

Hanson kept his back turned. He really didn't need to know any more about the doctor than he already did.

Dressing quickly, Henry passed him back the bag, and stood there, rubbing his hair dry. "I imagine our suspect is long gone."

"Yeah."

"Did you phone the fire department?"

Hanson sighed, and rubbed at his face. "No. It's been raining pretty hard lately. I don't think we're going to start a forest fire. Let's just phone it in, and leave. We can deal with the fallout later. I'm taking you back to Jo and I'm going home to my wife."

Henry nodded agreeably, and slid into the passenger seat of Hanson's car. The detective made the call, and got them on the road, heading back to the city. They drove in silence for a while, Henry looking out the window, Hanson trying not to think about his absolutely insane day. With this new perspective, a lot more aspects of the doctor's weird behaviour were making sense. He'd thought Henry and Jo had just been hiding a relationship, at the most maybe a tragic childhood trauma on Henry's part. This was not what he'd thought they were hiding.

Hanson shook his head. Now he was probably responsible for Henry, too. It was probably part of the induction process. If you knew his secret, you had to swear an oath to protect and tolerate the immortal for as long as you both shall live. "So now I'm part of the club. Is there a secret handshake?"

Henry scowled and focussed on adjusting his cuffs.

"There's a secret handshake!?"

"Lucas insisted," Henry muttered to his damp sleeve.

Hanson's eyebrows shot up. "Lucas knows? Why _on earth_ would you tell Lucas?"

"I didn't tell Lucas. It was an accident."

They passed the sign welcoming them to the tiny town of Cloverdale Falls. A stupidly insignificant town that had almost been Hanson's last resting place. It was a good reminder. His life had just been flipped on end, and he was carrying a secret he'd never asked for, but Mike Hanson was still alive. He shuddered. "Why water?"

Henry shrugged. "Technically, my first death was probably by drowning. I would have died in another minute or so, from the gunshot wound. But then they threw me overboard. I assume that has something to do with the mode of my return."

He said it so easily. Like his murder was of no real importance. Hanson just had to stop him. "You were shot and thrown overboard? Off what? Did they catch the bastards? Please tell me they're rotting in jail somewhere."

"Well, no. By the time I made it to land it was much too late. Communication wasn't like it is now. It's not like I could send out a photograph of my murderers to identify them."

Hanson glanced over at the doctor. "I don't understand."

"Detective, photography wasn't even invented until the eighteen thirties."

"So?"

Henry said nothing in response, and when Hanson looked over again, he realised the doctor was wearing a stricken look. Sighing, he guided the car to the side of the road and stopped, turning on his blinkers. Fixing Henry with steady glare, he motioned with his hand. "There's something else you forgot to tell me, isn't there?"

"Yes, well. I told you I don't stay dead. But I also don't age. I was born in 1779, Detective."

"What!"

Welcome to the club, Hanson.


End file.
